The Road
by Soncnica
Summary: …you know? The one that Sam hates, because of what happened to him there. Twice. Wee!Chesters, Sam is 9, Dean is 13.


**O.K. so this is my second Wee!chester fic, so that means I have one more, and I'll see about that one, because this is hard work. I'm really nervous about this one; you have no idea how much. I'm shaking like a leaf. I actually didn't even wanna put this up, but then I thought: "Ah why not, what's the worst that can happen? So they'll hate it, so what?" **

**So, Sam is 9 and Dean is 13. **

**P.S.: I own nothing and all the mistakes are mine, as usual. You know, if I could sell my mistakes, I would make a fortune by now. **

**Oh and yeah, this happened to me…twice…on the same road…go figure…I'm just weird, I guess. **

**A deep breath and here we go…**

**Enjoy…**

**--**

Early morning after a hot summer night found the Impala on a twisty road, turning and crawling like a snake, never giving John a chance to relax. If he would he would miss a turn and send the car spiraling downhill. One glance there and he saw it would not be a fun thing to do, when the backseat is occupied with your life, your blood and your happiness.

The cold rain that was softly tapping on the motel roof all night long washed off any residues of a hot week, too hot if we can judge by Dean's whine that accompanied every single drive they made during the week: "Dad, my skin's gonna melt, can you please open the window? Sir."

But the answer was always the same: "Suck it up Dean, you just had an ear infection, do you want a sequel?"

That, to say at least, shut him right up.

The bright colors, green of the forest and blue of the sky, were in such contrast with the black car, it would make your head spin. Low hanging branches that the spring dressed in leaves, small bushes brushing the gray pavement and grass sticking out on every turn, made John think he was driving in a tunnel. A sunny, shadowy tunnel.

The sun was low, barely starting to wake up, but still, it shone directly into John's eyes, making him close them to mere slits to make out where he was driving. He forgot to buy new sunglasses after Sam sat on them, which was just peachy. Dean laughed his ass off, Sam nearly choked on his tears and John bit back all the bad words he had boiling in his mouth.

He stole a brief glance at Sam, sitting silently on the backseat, dirty blond hair in his eyes as he lowered his head down to his book.

_My kid, Mary's child_…he thought to himself when he looked back on the road.

Sam tried to forget where they were going, tried his best not to think what will happen there, wherever 'there' might be, when they get there by concentrating on his comic that laid softly in his lap.

"Stop reading you freak, you're gonna make yourself sick."

A voice stopped the echoing of the Impala's roar in Sam's ears and he didn't raise his eyes from the page he was about to finish, saying: "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Sleep or something, I don't know."

"You sleep, I'll read." Now he did look from the read page, the last word of the last sentence still embodied in his mind: brother. _Yeah, brother. _

Truth was; he was sleepy. Their Dad started the day early, rousing them from deep sleep at five in the morning. Dean was grumpy and sleepy, Sam was just…not here. He buried his nose in the comic and went away.

But Dean was bored, and Sam felt that. This is gonna be a long drive.

"Fine, just don't say I didn't warn you." he looked out the window again, leaving Sam to respond or to back off. But knowing his little brother he knew what was coming.

"Whatever, jerk."

"Bit.."

"Boys." A deep voice made room in his sentence, efficiently breaking the offending word.

And that was enough. Sam looked at him and smirked with his small lips, his too long hair falling into his eyes, enveloping the brownness that shone with every word he spoke and especially with those he never said.

Dean showed him his tongue and smirked, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned his head on the window and closed his eyes.

Sam looked out for a second himself, to see the mists twirling among the trees and he thought just for that second that he was just going on a road trip with his father and brother. Oh, they were going on a road trip, it was just that it was a permanent road trip, never ending, never resting. He sighed and returned his eyes on the comic.

The pictures were bright in color, the text rather small and he had to squint his eyes to read it, but he got the gist of the comic just fine.

He didn't wanna bother his father, seeing him twisting the steering wheel, his eyes set on the road, deep in though. He didn't wanna wake up Dean, leaned on the left backseat window, with parted lips and fogging up the glass. He just wanted to read and not think about anything.

The bumpy road and the twists and turns were enough to rouse Dean from his slumber, because he didn't know how many bumps he could take. His head was a mess already, when that stupid ear infection reduced him into a crying heap of embarrassment to last him a life time. He shook that though away and groaned the groan of a sleepy man, woken up to soon and still to weary to concentrate.

"Dad, when are we gonna get there?"

Sam's voice jumped in his brain and woke him right up, if he wanted to or not.

"If we were there yet," he slurred out and spared Sam Dad's morning grumpiness that came with Sam and his annoying questions," Dad would have stopped already."

"Dad?"

_What the kid needed confirmation or something?_

"Read your book, Sammy and let me drive."

John looked into the rearview mirror straight into Sam's eyes. One look was all Sam needed to know that their Dad would stop when needed to stop and that was that.

"It's not a book, it's a comic." He mumbled beneath his breath hoping his Dad wouldn't hear it, but secretly wished he would. He returned his eyes on the pictures that brought him another world, another life…something else to think about. He didn't want anyone to notice him right now. He just wanted to make himself small, even smaller than he was in the back seat of the car, and just read.

"You are gonna make yourself so sick, Sammy, and you're gonna barf all over the car and Dad's gonna be so…"

"It's Sam, Dean. S.A.M."

"I know how to spell, idiot."

"Come on boys, we have a long ride ahead of us and just please don't piss me off."

"Tsk, Dad said a bad word." Sam looked at Dean with big eyes, bigger than his face as he said those words, like he was genuinely surprised. It was funny in a way, Dean thought…Dad never said a bad word when Sam was around; _he really must be tired or something._

"Oh, brother." and he averted his eyes out the window again, finding himself too sleepy to argue.

They drove like that for a few miles, with absence of speaking, but with lots of music that played quietly and softly, making them forget what they were, what they do, how they do it…

Sam sat with the comic in his hand, reread a million times already, because he had nothing else to read, and he won't be getting anything new for a while.

Dean sound asleep, curled on the seat, his bare feet pushed at his brothers hip, his head turned towards the back, not wanting the drivers seat to be the first thing he saw when he would wake up.

John was lost in his own word, mindful of every turn and twist, hole and tree branch, animal and car. There were not many cars, just some people going hiking or camping, nothing abnormal about that.

"Dean."

It was barely a whisper, barely there slipping into his dreams, tugging him to wakefulness.

"Dean." there it was again, a whisper of his name, a familiar voice, going slowly through the vibrations of the Impala's engine, the melody of a song currently occupying his Dad's mind.

"Dean."

_Will it never stop?_

"What?" he hoped the sleepy whine would make whoever was talking to him, stop.

"Dean."

O.K, something was wrong, because his name was still being called and the voice sounded…breathless.

He cracked one eye open, and saw the black leather of the backseat.

"What?" he matched the voice's volume, hoping he was dreaming about the whole thing.

"Dean," a breath, "'m sick."

"What?" he didn't dare to speak louder. He raised himself up a little and hit Sam with his feet.

A hissing sound came from his brother, a sound only Sam makes, when something is seriously wrong.

He woke up at that precise moment, at that precise hiss and that precise groan.

"Sam?" he was still wearing that slurred, sleepy voice but his brain was active as never before.

He saw Sam, leaned on the seat, his head resting next to the cool window, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his body bent over slightly…yeah Sam was sick.

"Sam? What's wrong?" less slurred, more present, but still kept in a whisper.

The way Sam rotated his head to look at him, those big, shiny eyes that reflected the pain he felt, dug themselves into him pulling him toward his brother.

"'m sick."

"I can see that, stupid. Why didn't you tell Dad?"

The moment those words left his mouth he realized that Sam would never do that. Never would Sam tell anything without him right next to him…to defend and to explain.

"Is it bad?" he whispered back to that face, pale and almost green around the edges. Face scrunching in pain, whenever a spasm hit his stomach. He uncurled his hand from underneath himself and put it lightly on Sam's stomach. He could feel Sam tense at the motion: "What are you doing?"

"You gonna throw up?"

"Yeah…"

"You gonna throw up, now?"

"Yeah…"

Sam's eyes were pleading Dean to do something and do it now. He felt Dean's small hand on his stomach and concentrated on the pressure of it. He relaxed, just like that, not even knowing why.

"O.K., it'll be O.K."

_How the hell didn't Dad notice Sam being sick? It's pretty hard to miss!_

The whole conversation was held in a whisper; for their ears only. But Dean knew he would have to break the secret exchange of words between his brother and himself. Sooner or later he would have to tell his Dad to stop the car and let Sam out.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Ah, Dad, Sammy's sick. I think he's gonna throw up."

Even before Dean could properly sit up, the Impala stopped on the side of the road and his fathers elbow was shoved into his face, as John turned around to look at them both.

"Sammy?" his voice was soft, deep and…fatherly.

"Yeah…"

"You gonna throw up?"

"Yeah…"

John didn't even register the Impala door opening and Dean pulling out his brother. _When the hell did Dean round the car?_

"Come on Sammy, you can throw up now."

He held his brother somewhere between a spruce tree and fern as he heaved.

His brother was all skin and bones as he held him up, not wanting him to face plant in his own mess. Feeling every bone, every muscle twitch, every barely breath that filled his little brothers lungs, made him hold onto him tighter. Never wanting to let go. He gathered all his strength, tensing his muscles when a spasm hit Sam and he leaned forward, but soon enough he realized that Sam was almost feather light in his arms. It felt like he was holding glass, fragile body of his baby brother, struggling through the pain and the tears.

_Skin and bones, Sammy, 'm gonna make sure you eat more._

"'s fine Sammy, it'll be fine." He whispered half in tears into his brother's ear, that was covered with sweat soaked hair. He felt Sam's stomach muscles clench and release whatever they were holding hostage in there, as he held his hand over his brother's stomach, trying to hold him upright and at the same time trying to smooth the trembles. Sam leaned forward again as another spasm hit him, and his T-shirt rose up a little letting Dean's warm forearm touch Sam's warm sweat slick stomach. They corrected their stance, fitting together like pieces of puzzles.

Sam held Dean's hands holding him, held them tight, digging his fingers in the skin and muscles of his brother's forearm. When he heaved again he almost raised himself a little from the soft floor, bracing himself on Dean's strong arms.

The smell hit Dean, forcing him to come back from his thoughts of feeding Sam more, but he just adjusted the grip he had on Sam and whispered: "You'll be fine soon, and then if I'll ever see you reading something in the car again, I swear I'll kick your ass." His voice was menacing, boarding on anger, but Sam saw right through it. It was just fear.

Sam heaved again and Dean felt a chuckle in Sam's stomach and he could only imagine the way Sam's lips turned into a smile.

When he thought he gave out everything he had to give, everything that included last night burger and fries, he sagged in Dean's arms: "D.an."

Through Sam's tears smearing his face, through the pained whimpers and occasional groans, through heaves and slight breaths, Dean caught his name coming from his brother's mouth.

"'m here, just take it easy in let it go."

Sam heaved again. God this was just all the things he never wanted. Throwing up like this, stopping his Dad on his way to God knows where, _he'll be pissed_…

"Dean, come on give him to me."

As the words were spoken Sam felt Dean tighten his hold on him, pressing his hand into his stomach, making him throw up again. But the pressure was good, the pain faded with it, went through him and if he didn't know better, he would have thought it went straight into Dean.

"I've got him, Dad. 's O.K."

"Dean, he's too heavy for you, you'll both fall."

_Then we'll fall…_

"Fall?" the small voice tangled in fear and choking made Dean hold on tighter.

"We won't fall, I swear, Sam."

The tight grip Dean had on him told him he would never fall, even if the words didn't register at first.

When the soft needle covered floor was drenched in his vomit, the smell almost overwhelming for all of them, Sam nudged Dean in his ribs: "'m fine." He let go of Dean's arms and wiped his mouth.

"Sammy?"

"'s Sam, Dean." he was breathless, the tears making his skin crawl with embarrassment and all he wanted to do was escape Dean's hands and his Dad's seeking eyes.

But he couldn't…he couldn't even stand proper and he was sure that if Dean wouldn't be holding him up, he would be laying face first in the fern.

John gave Dean an approving glare, _good boy_, and followed them to the car.

"Yeah, you're fine." He felt Sam's weak struggle to get away from him but he still didn't let go _can't let go_ of Sam as they stumbled towards the Impala. Dean tugged a little to harshly on Sam making him grab Dean's arms holding him by the waist. It was almost a dance, with Dean leading behind Sam to get him to the Impala as soon as possible.

Dean felt something slimy on his hand that was resting strongly on Sam's stomach: "Did you just grab me with the hand you wiped your mouth with?"

"'m sorry, I…"

Dean almost gagged, remembering what he saw coming out of his brother's mouth and now _that_ was on his hand.

_Ewwww…_

"That's just disgusting, Sammy."

He half carried and half walked Sam to the back seat, wondering how the hell did they stumble so far away from it in the first place. He almost pushed Sam on the seat and leaned on the side of the car, his eyes never leaving his brothers form. Sam was still sick, but he didn't think the kid would vomit anytime soon.

"Hey Sam, how 'ya feeling?" John was crouching before the backseat of the Impala, his knee bumping on the open door. Sam's long, thin legs were dangling over the seat, his feet barely touching the dirt. John placed his hands on Sam's boney knees, still trembling from what happened.

"I'm fine Dad," he exhaled deeply, leaned his head on the seat and closed his eyes, "I just…I'm sorry."

"It's O.K., you'll be fine," he raised his hand to wipe off some sweat off of Sam's cheeks, "we'll be there soon and you'll rest there, alright?" he patted Sam's knee and stood up.

Sam opened his eyes and looked at his Dad: "Yeah, Dad."

His eyes were already falling shut again, when a bottle of water was shoved in his hand.

"Here, drink this. Slowly." And he did, he gulped down the offered water _slowly_ after he roused his mouth with it, cleaning the residues of the vomit.

"Thanks Dean." he didn't even notice that the car was in movement when he spoke those words. He was just tired. To tired to care.

"Told ya, barf boy that if you're gonna read, you're gonna get sick."

"Sorry." And he was fading into the land of dreams, his head near Dean's hip, his legs folded near the door, shivering and hungry. The last thing he felt before he fell asleep was the brush of Dean's hand as it sneaked in to get a stray hair out of his eye.

-:-

"Come on Sammy, you really have an issue with this road?"

"Yeah…"

"You gonna throw up?"

"Yeah…"

Everything happened to soon for Sam to comprehend; at one point he was sitting in the Impala, his stomach rolling up and down, right and left and now he had his head somewhere between a spruce tree and fern with Dean's hand pressing a little to hard on his stomach.

The whole thing reminded Dean of that morning…how he was afraid he would break his brother if he would held tighter, how he couldn't let go, how his brother was all skin and bones, how he swore he would make Sam eat more, how the sun shone in his back making him sweat, how Sam cried silently, how he threatened to Sam he'll kill him if he'll see him read in the car ever again.

His brother wasn't all skin and bones anymore, he was muscle and bones, but they still fitted together…their strength was on the same level and he would never let his brother fall. Ever.

"D.an."

"'m here, just take it easy in let it go."

And he did. The second time in his lifetime he let it go on the same patch of road as fifteen years ago. It was a sunny morning then, not a rainy night like it was now.

And he didn't get a bottle of water from Dean, all he got was:

"Turn your head up to the sky and open up your mouth." A little too chipper for two 'o clock in the morning.

"You want me to drink America's finest rain?" he looked at Dean. He couldn't hold in a small laughter of 'unbelievable' at Dean's comment.

"Hey, it's the best we've got." He shrugged.

Fine. He opened his mouth and drank America's finest rain water in the middle of the winding road, with his brother…but without his Dad.

**-- **

**The End **


End file.
